


Open Swim

by MissGillette



Series: Xavierine Rare Pair Hell [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bossy Charles, Cherik side pairing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette
Summary: On Logan's first day of working lawn care for the Xavier family, Scott warns him about Charles, who has a thirst for anything that moves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe I'll revisit this and write nasty, horrible smut for it. Maybe. But I like what it is AS it is now. If you enjoy this rare pair, why not show love and comment? 
> 
> Wanna make it official? [Follow this](http://missgillette.tumblr.com)

Scott warns him, with his typical sunglasses pulled down to mean Serious Business, before they’ve even left headquarters on their way to the Xavier mansion.

“I have to give you the traditional First Day Disclaimer about the kid who lives in this mansion. Don’t talk to him.” Logan blinks. “Don’t look at him… Don’t even  **think** about him, okay?”

“And why is that, exactly?” Logan hoists himself into the pickup truck’s cabin and yanks the door shut. Scott is driving. “He a Medusa?”

Scott sputters while pulling his seatbelt on. “This is no time for jokes, Logan. And no, he’s not a fucking Medusa. Just—”

“He fucks anything that pays attention to him,” Ororo yells from the driver window of the truck parked next to them. Logan manages to hear her clearly through his own, rolled up window. “People get reassigned to other customers all the time, because the Xavier kid can’t keep his pants on.”

Logan snorts at the message and clicks his seatbelt into the buckle as Scott starts the truck. “Is he legal?”

Scott sputtering again makes up for the fact that his window won’t roll down, once he tries it.

No one answers Logan’s question, but it turns out to be a non-issue. When they arrive, and throughout their work during the day, Logan doesn’t see anyone. Not even the homeowners, which strikes him as odd. He and the rest of the crew had simply walked onto the property from where they’d parked the trucks and trailers. Logan would definitely call this the “servants’ entrance,” but he knows there’s probably some nicer thing to call where they’d parked. He’s with Scott today on mower duty, trailing behind the growling, red beast up and down the extensive lawn in even passes. It’s a peaceful, sweaty first week at the Xavier mansion and their other clients.

Nothing happens until Logan’s second Monday, when their service takes place during the same time as the pool boy’s.

Or rather, pool man, Logan corrects himself while watching the spectacle.

“Get out!” The shrill voice of Mrs. Xavier screams from the guest house situated immediately near the pool. “You’re fired, get off my property this instance!”

Everyone in Logan’s crew stops what they’re doing to watch. A beige uniform is thrown from the open door of the guest house, along of with the pool man himself. Tall and thin, but not sickly so, the man cowers as he skitters away from the mayhem. His arms cover his head as more items are thrown from the open door. Tripping, he almost falls to his knees while making a grab for his discarded uniform. It only occurs to Logan at that moment that the man is completely naked. Amused grumbling rumbles around him as everyone gets back to work. Scott slaps him on the back in camaraderie, but Logan hesitates to resume working.

Finally, after the squeal of tires from the pool man’s van are long gone, Sharon Xavier steps out of the guest house. Smoke follows her trail, but there’s no cigarette in her hand. She turns at the waist, sneering at someone inside, and stalks away back to the house. The backdoor she’d come out from slams shut behind her, a victim of her fury. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, Logan cups his hand over his brow to block the sun. He turns his shaded view back to the guest house and comes face to face with the instigator of all this trouble.

A young man, a boy, Logan corrects himself, stands slumped against the door jam of the guest house. A cigarette dangles from between his lips as he stares blankly at the smooth surface of the pool. Open and showing everything to anyone who wants to see it, a robe hangs casually around his shoulders. He’s disheveled, with his hair standing up in fistfuls and brusies blooming across his porcelain skin. They’re especially aggressive about his neck and navel. A puff of smoke escapes his crimson lips after he takes a drag from the cigarette. Blue eyes, devil eyes, zero in on Logan through the smoke and shimmer above the concrete he’s standing on.

Charles Xavier flicks his cigarette away and smirks at him. It’s the kind of smirk that seals fates.  
  


Logan is the type of man who ignores fate-sealing smirks, though. He’s made it this far in life, twice Charles’ age, via brute force and hard work. Scott’s warning rings in his ears when they all return Tuesday to find a new pool service also parked near the servant entrance. It’s a girl netting up leaves and checking the chemical levels, though. Logan lifts an eyebrow at that, but Ororo and Scott chortle and elbow each other while watching. Logan senses a joke somewhere, and he’s friendly enough with the crew already to inquire. The response is about as joking and mean as he’d imagined.

“The rumor is that Charles Xavier came out his mother’s vagina,” Scott explains, “and that was the last vagina he ever wanted to be near. Strictly male oriented, that one.” Scott smirks at him and waggles his eyebrows. When Logan continues delivering his stony, unamused stare, Scott backpeddles a bit. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But, you have to hand it to Mrs. Xavier, this  **is** one way to get Charles to quit fucking every pool boy she hires.”

“Pool boys, huh?”

“Oh yea,” Ororo chimes in as she joins them under the shade of a giant oak tree. “The one you saw last week, what was his name?” Ororo and Scott look at each other for a moment before they both turn back to Logan. “Erik, maybe? Oh god, he lasted the longest out of the others. Charles turned 18 six, seven months ago? They’ve been at it ever since. Not that Charles hasn’t run every pool guy out of here since he was younger, though.”

“Yikes,” Logan murmurs. “How do you know all this? And how are all you still here?”

Ororo waves a hand to their fellow crew members strewn about the property. “Notice anything about us, Logan?”

His eyes land on Kitty, Jean, and Raven before it dawns on him.

“Holy shit,” he barks out before laughing. “We’re the only ones she can hire. Jesus Christ.”

“Except you ‘n me,” Scott points out. “But there’s a reason Jean hired you over the other candidates. Beside your resume, I guess. You and I aren’t very risky hires.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Scott, but he offers nothing more. He turns to Ororo, who hides a laugh behind her hand.

Clearing her throat, she explains, “Scott is the kind of asshole who rats Charles out, which he has.” Scott tips an imaginary hat. “And you are  **so** not his type.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan shoulders his leaf blower from where he’d left if beside his feet and stalks away.

“‘Not his type.’” He mimes back to himself once they’ve dispersed back to their duties, not quite mocking Ororo. “What exactly makes them think I’m in the ‘fucking barely legal kids’ business, anyway?”

The words are no sooner out of his mouth than a softly yelled, “You hoo!” catches his ear. Logan stops on his way to clear any missed grass clippings from the lawn and glances up at a balcony that overlooks the pool. Pinked by the sun and grinning under large, obnoxious sunglasses, Charles waves to him. He beckons Logan closer and hops up and down where he stands. Logan glances around, seeing no one watching them, before he turns his head back to Charles. The little hopping and wiggling is still going on, but Logan hasn’t moved any closer. The impatience shows on Charles’ face in a little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Would you come here? Just for a minute. I need to ask you something.”

His voice floats over the pool and slithers into Logan’s ear, full of promises of tight, eager things. Logan frowns up at him.

“No, thanks.”

The rejection jars Charles a bit, and his sparkling smile slips of his face.  He’s quick to pick up the pieces and arrange them on his face again, this time pouting a bit.

“Please?” He begs. “Nothing untoward, I promise. Just a moment of your time.”

Annoyed and sweating under the sun, Logan shakes his head and calls back, “Go fuck yourself.”

The roar of his leaf blower drowns out anything else Charles has to say.

  
  


Logan makes good on his harsh attitude and manages to avoid Charles Xavier for another week. He’s walking out of a half bath Scott pointed him towards when a bundle of pale, warm skin ambushes him. Logan sputters and grumbles as he’s shoved and pinched into a room next door to the tiny bathroom he’d used. The metal  _ snick _ of a lock silences his disgruntled noises. Charles, wild-eyed and smile full of red lips and teeth, plasters his back to the door and blocks Logan’s escape. Logan turns a thoughtful eye to the windows and judges how hard he’d have to run at them if it came to that. Movement from the door startles him, though, and Logan keeps his sharp eyes locked on the nymph that’s trapped him.

“Now that we’re alone,” Charles almost purrs at him, with a lick of his lips for added temptation, “we can have a nice, little chat!”

“Pretty sure I told you what you could do last week,” Logan says with his arms crossed over his chest. “Go—”

“Go fuck myself, yes, yes, I remember.” Charles smiles with a shy dip of his head, glancing at Logan under the flop of his hair. It’s chilly inside the mansion, but he’s running around in a pair of tiny shorts and a tank top. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, showing every bump and curve of flesh. “You never said I had to do those things alone, though…”

Logan sighs and rubs a clean hand over his face. “Look, kid—”

“Charles, and I’m not actually a minor, anymore—”

“Awesome, shut up for a second.” Charles shivers against the door, and Logan rethinks his tactics. “I’m not interested in losing my job for a little bit of ass, all right?”

Charles pouts. “You wouldn’t lose your job. I’d never tell on you.”

“Uh huh,” Logan deadpans. “That pool guy you screwed over a few weeks ago definitely didn’t lose his job the moment your mother walked in on you.”

Charles waves a hand as if batting a fly away. “Erik understood the risks. He’s an adult, capable of making choices. Much like you are, Mr…”

“Wow. Trying to fuck me, and you don’t even know my name.” Logan mockingly scolds Charles and has to bite back a grin during the brief moment of outrage that flashes over his face. “Unbelievable.”

Charles stomps his foot and says on the edge of yelling, “I’d know your name if you gave me just a pittance, a  **modicum** of respect and spoke to me as a human being, as a fellow adult!”

Logan drawls, “And now you’re throwing a temper tantrum.”

Charles’ pretty mouth twists into something horrible for a split second before he yells and throws himself at Logan, hands out. Expecting it, Logan catches him by the wrists and shuffles them back towards the door. Charles weighs nothing to him, and he maneuvers them both without any trouble. Charles struggles in his hold, huffing and barking out half-sentences, until his back collides with the door. His bony knee flies up, trying to catch Logan where it matters, but Logan pushes him with one large hand in the center of his chest and knocks Charles’ head into the door. The wooden thump of Charles’ skull connecting with the door rings out in the empty room, and Logan freezes where he is. His hand trapping both of Charles’ wrists spams.

He’s prepared an apology, already has his muscles coordinated to back away, when Charles shakes his banged head and groans. His blue eyes have turned molten under the curtain of his hair as he glances up at Logan and breathes hard.

“Got another one in you?” He asks, breathless for all the wrong reasons.

“Jesus, kid,” Logan sighs above the mop of his hair. “You don’t know what to give up.”

The words, “I really don’t,” ghost across the thin skin of his throat. Charles takes advantage of Logan’s soft heart and wrenches his wrists free. He hooks his fingers in the loops of Logan’s work pants and drags the older man forward. They crash together against the door, sandwiching Charles’ lithe body between hard muscle and solid wood. A soft noise slips past Charles’ lips as he dances up on his tiptoes to get at Logan’s face. Charles arches his mouth up and forward, seeking a kiss and getting nothing for his troubles.

“Why won’t you give in?” Charles whines with another stomp of his foot. “I know what I look like, and you’re practically sex on legs”—Logan snorts—”so I don’t see what the problem is! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Ki-Charles, look,” Logan groans with both hands on Charles’ shoulders, making space between them. “This job is difficult, and I fall dead asleep every night.  But it’s a good job. And I’m not throwing it away for a bit of ass.”

Charles pleads with a little shake of his head, “It wouldn’t cost you your job! I can wait, we can see each other after hours, before hours, whatever! Please? Won’t you think about it? At least kiss me for my troubles.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Oh yea, a lot of trouble you went through. More trouble if your mother were to walk in.”

Charles doesn’t beg anymore, but he turns those sad, pathetic eyes on him. Long lashes fan over his cheeks tinged pink by sun or blush, maybe both, and Charles bats his eyes at Logan. Charles bites his lower lip for emphasis, letting it go with a hard drag of his teeth into the flesh. It’s all dramatic and idiotic, too much for Logan with his simple tastes and short patience. Charles whines at him, morose and needy, while pressing their bodies tightly together. Logan cranes his head back for safety, but otherwise he doesn’t fight Charles off. The short, thin line of his body burns along Logan’s front, and he tries to ignore the insistent press of something hard along his thigh. Sighing through his nose with a bit more force than necessary, Logan stares at the wood above Charles’ head.

“Fine. One kiss, but that’s it!”

Arms snake around his neck without any more words from Charles. Logan leans forward to make it easier for him. The tips of their noses brush together, with Charles’ clean, pale skin in stark contract to Logan’s sweat-grit and reddened flesh. Charles doesn’t seem to mind as their skin slides against one another, until Logan feels the gentle breeze of breath on his lips. He does nothing, doesn’t offer Charles a nudge or parting of his lips. He stands still as a soft mouth presses delicately to his. Charles’ arms tighten around his neck, and Logan’s hands slip between them to anchor Charles’ hips to the door. Their mouths tingle and buzz as Charles hums against him, a quiet sound that must slip out on accident. It betrays exactly how much Charles wanted this for himself. With nothing more than that, Charles backs away and settles flat on his feet again with barely a wet sound between them.

From under his hair, Charles glances at him bashfully, although the glance is more truthful and bare than the others. Logan purses his lips, trying to chase away the feeling of Charles on them, and sucks in a breath. He’d forgotten to breathe the moment Charles had arched up to him. Soft flesh burns under Logan’s hands where he’s still holding Charles tightly. It’s not tight enough to hurt, but just the right amount of pressure to assure Charles that he can’t move. Fingers tangle in the wild hair at the nape of Logan’s neck, and he fights the instinct to wrench his head around to knock Charles away. He doesn’t know why he indulges Charles this simple act of intimacy.

Sighing in defeat, Charles untangles his fingers from Logan’s hair. To Logan’s chest, he murmurs, “Thank you, sir.”

Logan opens his mouth to say something, but air and saliva catch each other and almost choke him. His mouth snaps shut, and he has to clear his throat twice to calm down. More steady, he tries words again.

“It’s, uh, Logan. Call me Logan.”

Charles’ smile is blinding and bright. It’s the kind of smile that seals fates.


End file.
